


Lena Corbet

by allthebeautifulthings9828



Category: Original Work
Genre: 19th Century, Arranged Marriage, BAMF Women, Cheating, F/M, Female Serial Killer, Female-Centric, Gen, Historical, Historical Accuracy, Historical References, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Infidelity, Louisiana, Murder, Original Fiction, POV Original Female Character, Prostitution, Revenge, Serial Killers, Sexually Transmitted Diseases, Victorian, Victorian Attitudes, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-02
Updated: 2014-10-02
Packaged: 2018-02-19 15:15:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2393123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthebeautifulthings9828/pseuds/allthebeautifulthings9828
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A dangerous man was on the loose in Natchitoches, the reporters said, for the delicate constitution of a mere woman could conceive of such brutal urges. Yet Lena Corbet knew better. Left diseased and abandoned by her husband, she rid Natchitoches of the prostitutes who brought misery into her home and family. She became a serial killer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lena Corbet

It was a disease, they said, carried by men but suffered by women. Suffered, indeed. The physician wouldn’t even properly examine Lena Corbet due to the indecent nature of her condition. Such blatant refusal to assist her with the condition that he forced upon her was the first blow. The second blow came when her great planter husband, Baptiste Corbet, became the subject of rumors throughout Natchitoches Parish of his dissipated habits. You see, it was quite acceptable for planters to keep mistresses of ill repute or visit brothels, but it was quite another matter to flaunt such things in public.

Baptiste never cared for Lena and she knew it every time he took the carriage out in the late hours after supper. Why should he? Her father sold her in marriage for combined property and the tantalizing opportunities for wealth and power. Not many could claim wealth since the War of Northern Aggression ended, yet the marriage created a powerful alliance between the Durand and Corbet families. She regularly heard hushed tête-à-têtes of political ambition during her first year of her indentured servitude. That sent her into giggling fits. Her most darling husband may have had wealth and the influence of a good family name, but his mind was about as sharp as a marble.

Then her first child came along. Emilie’s skin resembled coffee quite tempered with milk, her hair matched her eyes in equal blackness, and all who looked upon her knew she took after her Creole mother. Baptiste’s disinterest in Emilie based on her sex bordered on cliché but Lena enjoyed the distraction from her dismal marriage. The following year, Lena produced the son so desired by both the Corbet and Durand sides of the family. Henri didn’t appear so Creole, they had decided gleefully. Creoles were not going to go far in national politics. Little Henri’s fate had been decided from birth, just as hers had been as a baby.

“Well done, breeding mare,” she told herself the day of his baptism.

A woman’s greatest consolation in life was supposed to be the birth of sons to carry on their father’s legacy and their father was supposed to love and honor her even more because of it. She found those ideas to be more useless waxing poetic from older women who probably went numb to the sting of being nothing more than a housemaid and breeding mare. Lena felt less than a woman because she recognized her unhappiness as something broken in her. After all, every other woman in her life appeared perfectly happy with their dismal lots in life, never having opinions or ambitions of their own.

The arrival of a second son, Andre, also brought the first indications that her body was not well. Producing children distracted her from Baptiste’s frequent absences in the most inconvenient hours of night. Falling ill and suffering through a disease that he never once suffered left her in bed for weeks with nothing to do except allow the repeated betrayals to ferment in the hot Louisiana summer. The more she thought of her continued sacrifices as a woman of proper virtue as opposed to his freedom to be the great whoremaster of Natchitoches Parish, the more her anger possessed her like a Biblical demon. Not even the grace of the Virgin could reason with her by the third week of being bound to bed and disallowed from seeing her own children. Baptiste never once acknowledged her illness. Instead, he went on with the whores of Natchitoches, a willing participant in the give and take, the exchange, the spread of the most appalling pestilence.

Lena emerged from the initial bout of her new companion, the disease, with shattering clarity. Some might have accused her of insanity but she never felt such purpose in her life. Something had to give or more God-fearing women of Louisiana would continue to suffer. The men weren’t the problem. They were naturally weak-minded creatures and could easily be led by the hand away from depravity if it no longer stared them in the face each night.

The whores had to go.

Like the plagues of the Bible, only a Godly creature could remedy the matter.

And so, each night pulled Lena further into another life. She put her babies to bed, kissed their plump faces, and set about the task of arming herself with blades and hatchets stolen from the slaughterhouse on her own property. Natchitoches’ darkened streets crawled with vermin dressed in cheap corsets, half dresses, and the varnish of heavy rouge over their cheeks and lips. They were so easy to find.

The first whore didn’t fight much. Lena expected to hesitate in the grisly task, perhaps, but once the decision solidified, she went about snuffing out a life as coolly as washing dishes after supper. Ridding Natchitoches of its whore population aroused no emotion in her at first. Nevertheless, occasionally one fought harder, scratching and clawing at Lena as if it might save her pathetic life, and the satisfaction of overcoming those fallen women twisted her sense of vengeance into pleasure. Slashing throats from where voices enticed decent men and stabbing bellies that carried bastard babies eased the pain of the disease thriving in her own body.

News slowly reached the light of day, although no one paid attention to missing undesirables in the beginning. Only the shocking number of murdered prostitutes pushed the story to the front pages of newspapers that Baptiste and Lena read over breakfast.

A dangerous man was on the loose in Natchitoches, the reporters said, for the delicate constitution of a mere woman could conceive of such brutal urges.


End file.
